


Pretty Necklace

by pompadorkery



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blackwatch Era, Depression, Not shippy just sad, Papa bear Gabe to the rescue, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pompadorkery/pseuds/pompadorkery
Summary: A noose around the neck seems a fitting demise for an outlaw, and Jesse McCree is ready to meet his maker.But today, the man in black is not his hangman.He's his savior.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little blurb to stretch my fingers a bit a give my mind a break from my McHanzo fic. (you can consider them linked if you really want to)
> 
> Enjoy~!

A solitary chair sits in the center of a meager room, pulled away from the tiny desk cemented into the concrete wall. The little knick-knacks and personal items that once topped it now scatter across the ground, thrown recklessly aside in a fit of hysteria. Dozens of smashed cigarette butts pile up at the feet of the chair. A few emptied brown glass bottles sit next to it.

Another cigarette falls into the ashy grave, getting crushed under the heel of a heavy leather boot. The carton follows it after the last smoke is removed and placed into the lips of a bloodshot eyed boy. The flame of his lighter flicks on and catches the end. It's left to drop on the floor once its job is complete. It's an unfitting send off for such a loyal friend.

Taking a drag he reclines back in the chair, teetering on the back two feet. He gazes up at the rope above his head- a noose, clumsily tied to the support beams stretching across the ceiling. He exhales shakily. He's done his crying. He's all dried up. It's now or never.

He grumbles and pushes himself up, taking a step up to climb atop the wobbly desk chair. He stands face to face with his impending demise. He stares at it, getting to know it a little better before it takes him away. His calloused palms run along the course twine. It's scratchy. Figures. He gives it a little tug, making sure he got the knot tight enough and that the ceiling wasn't going to cave in. It seems sound.

The more he looks at it, the less scary it gets. It's simple. It's fast. He's got enough alcohol in his system, he probably won't feel a thing. Yeah. It's fine. He can do this. No more chickening out. All he has to do is put his head through the opening. Okay, easy enough. He does it hat and all. Alright, now he has to tighten the rope. Good.

It scratches his throat. Did people really like this as some sort of kinky thing? He can't see how that could be arousing. The feeling makes him want to immediately tear it off. It's not nearly tight enough to do so, but he feels like he's choking. His eyes shut and he tries to clear his head. No more weird thoughts. It'll all be over soon. This Hell on Earth will be a bygone. He'll disappear and remain only as a bad memory to everyone who knew him.

He hopes there isn't a Heaven; he's certainly not going there. Hopefully there's no Hell either. He hopes it's nothing. That's the fate he deserves. An eternity of nothing is better than a lifetime of regret and remorse. If there's any fate he deserves even more, it'd be the souls of those he'd wronged ripping him to pieces. He's a criminal, a murderer. He'd looked down the barrel of his gun and took lives without a second thought. In a way he had enjoyed it. It was something he was good at. It was something he had control over.

So he could do this. He could control his own life too.

All that's left is to kick out the chair.

He inhales deeply, the rope rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. _Just kick it away._ He's already two thirds of the way there. He can do this. 

 

“Pretty necklace you got there, cowboy.”

 

His red eyes fly open at the familiar voice. When did the door open? He didn't even hear it. What is Reyes doing here? He can't be here. 

“Oh, don't stop on my account” He motions with his hand as he leans against the door frame. “Go on. Get on with it.” 

His chapped lips part, his lungs push out air, but he makes nothing but a raspy sound. It's like one of those dreams where he can't scream no matter how hard he tries. 

Reyes raises a brow, looking entirely unimpressed with the whole display. “C'mon. You gonna do it or not? I haven't got all day, McCree.” His arms cross over his chest as one ankle hooks behind the other. 

It seems he was wrong about having no tears left, seeing as they start streaming down his cheeks. “F-fuck you, Reyes. Just... get out of here,” he stammers, biting down on his lower lip. Great. Just peachy. Of course he fucks this up too. It's like his whole life is one big joke. He can't even kill himself right. 

“You're a coward.”

Jesse blubbers, spitting out a “What?” between his silent sobs. 

Reyes heaves a sigh, as if Jesse's ignorance is unwarranted and this is the most common information on the planet. “If you wanted to kill yourself you'd have done it already.” Pushing away from the doorway he shuts it behind himself. “You're a coward.”

“It's not that fucking easy. You don't understand anything about me.” Who does this guy think he is? Who is he to intrude and then patronize him? This is no place for him to speak.

“Why haven't you just blown your brains out with that gun of yours? If you really wanna die so bad, doesn't that seem like the easiest method? Or are you that into your stupid aesthetic and wanna die like they did in the Old West?”

This isn't some spur of the moment thing. He's thought about it a lot. He thought about just sticking the gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger, Hell, he'd been halfway there. He'd gotten it all the way between his lips, but couldn't bring himself to shoot. Every time he'd just break down, curse, and cry himself to sleep. He couldn't leave himself slumped over in a pool of his own blood. Someone would have to sit there and clean it up. He didn't want to be a burden even in death. “I didn't want... I didn't want to leave a mess like that...” he mumbles. 

The commander makes no attempt to stifle his laughter. “Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, McCree? Jesus Christ.” He actually starts tearing up from laughing so hard. _Asshole._

“I'm sorry that I'm not selfish. Just get out of here and I'll be outta yer hair soon enough.”

“Not selfish? Oh come on,” he wheezes. He pats his chest and shakes his head to rid himself of the giggles. Leaving his spot at the door, he takes a couple steps forward and plops down Jesse's dingy, ratty mattress. “Killing yourself is the most selfish thing you could do. It's just giving up on your problems and passing problems on to other people.” 

Jesse has to crane his neck to see him now. “Like you care. I know you don't give a shit about me, Reyes.”

“Oh, quite the contrary. Why do you think I saved your ass from rotting in prison? You think I'd do that for something I don't give a shit about? You're a terrible judge of character.” He plucks one of the bottles off the ground and gives it a shake, checking to see if there's anything left. He frowns, finding it empty, so he turns his attention back to the cowboy with the noose around his neck. “So, what are you waiting for? You gonna do it?”

Jesse's shoulders drop, defeated. The eyes on him are too much. “I...can't do it with you here....” He turns his face away, even though from his position lounging on the bed, Reyes can't see him anyway. He rubs his eyes, the salty tears burn. 

“Whelp,” Reyes pops up and Jesse can feel his muscular arms wrap around his waist, “I guess I have to stay here then. C'mon. Get outta there.” He holds Jesse firmly in place while the boy's trembling hands struggle to get the rope off his neck. Getting a noose on is one thing, getting it off is another. 

Once his neck is free, he yelps as he's basically thrown from the chair onto the thin mattress. He knocks his head against the wall. It hurts and he knows he's going to have a bump there. 

Reyes looms over him, his brows knit tightly and he scowls, looking more serious than he has the entire time. “Don't you ever try that shit again? You hear me?” he barks, “You're not alone in the world, McCree. If something's wrong you come talk to me. I promise you, no matter what sort of mood I'm in, I will listen. We're all here for you. Hell, talk to Jack, talk to Ana.”

This brings him to tears again. He's so stupid. He's a failure even in this. What would his mother think if she knew? The poor woman, she probably sits up all night praying to God and asking him to keep her baby boy safe. He could never tell her, that is if he ever even sees her again. How could he just show up out of nowhere and tell her what he's become?

“Just talk to me okay” Reyes's voice softens and he sits down next to Jesse on the bed, “What's up kid? Tell me.”

“I don't deserve to be alive. I've done so much fucked up shit. I've killed people. Innocent people. Why do I get to live and they don't? It ain't fair. I'm a fucking cancer on the world. All I know is how to kill. What sorta life is that?” He hangs his head, his fingers tangle into the sweaty hair clung to the back of his neck. “Not a day goes by that I don't think about those people.”

“That's why you're here _mijo_.”

“To be a killer?”

“No,” he answers, rubbing his broad palm over Jesse's back. “You're here to redeem yourself. Take those skills you have and put them to good use. You're just a kid. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Sure, maybe you did wrong in the past, but you can make up for it. Fight for something you believe in. What is it you want in this world?”

He ponders this question. It's never been posed to him before. If he was younger he'd probably say something like 'money' or 'power'. But now, he's not so sure. What does he want? He knows he can't bring those people back, but maybe he can prevent any more from joining them. “I guess... I just don't want anyone else like me runnin' around, doin' whatever they please. I wanna bring'em to justice I guess.” 

“Then do it. Fight for that. Some days, having something to fight for is the only thing that'll keep you going. Believe me. It gets hard sometimes.” His arm loops around Jesse's shoulder, pulling him in close. No one would expect the commander to be so compassionate. He's a hard ass, but he cares. 

Jesse never had a father figure in his life and Reyes is just about the closest thing he's got. 

He lets himself ease into Reyes's embrace. It's not hard to do. His energy is completely spent and the bit of comfort is welcome. “How do ya do it?”

“Hm?”

“How do ya keep fightin' when ya know yer gonna have to take more lives in the process?”

Reyes answers without hesitation, “Be selfish.” This earns a confused look from Jesse. Wasn't he just demeaning him for being selfish, and now he's telling him the exact opposite. “It's your life or theirs. It's the lives of countless others, against the life of one. It's not the greatest solution, it'd be nice if no one had to die, but it's part of the job.”

Jesse scoffs, pouting out his lower lip, “Shitty job...”

“Well kid, guys like us don't have much of a choice. I'd love to wear a nice crisp uniform and sit pretty in front of cameras and have my face plastered over posters, but things didn't end up that way. It doesn't mean I'm gonna stop doing what I need to do. We do important work here, and I think it's a little better than sitting in prison, right?” Giving Jesse one final squeeze he stands up, “But if you really can't find it in your heart to do this job, we'll talk about it.” 

Reaching down into his boot he produces a small pocket-knife. Taking a step up onto the chair he starts sawing the blade across the rope, splitting the ends and unraveling the twine. Before long he's through every strand and the head-sized loop falls free. Stepping down, he turns and places it over the cowboy's head. The loop hangs limply around his neck, unable to hurt him any longer. Reyes smiles gently, “It really is a pretty thing, but I don't think it's for you.”

“...Thanks... for everything.”

“Don't mention it, kid.” He steals the wide-brimmed hat from Jesse's head and sets it on the desk. Turning back he musses up Jesse's already disheveled hair. “Get some rest okay?” 

“Y-yeah...”

“Do you need me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” 

“Please.”

He chuckles, “Alright, alright. Kick off your boots and lay down then. I don't have all night.” He grabs the chair and twists it around, straddling the back and resting his arms on the backrest. 

Jesse does as he's told, setting his boots at the foot of his bed. The rope around his neck pauses him as he moves to take it off, but it holds no power over him any longer. It's just rope. Really, it's just a bundle of strings woven together to make something scarier than it really is. Pulling it over his head, he tosses it aside. He won't think about it anymore. 

The lumpy mattress feels like a bed of clouds. His pillow is like resting in the bosom of an angel. With how exhausted he is, and the amount of alcohol in his system, it doesn't take him long to fall asleep. Another day. He'll live another day. 

 

–-

 

Another day comes. His eyes are reluctant to open, feeling heavy and groggy. It's dark in his room at least, one plus of living in a tiny box with no windows. A sharp throbbing pain manifests itself behind his eyeballs. He feels like he might throw up any second. 

Griping and groaning he sits up, feeling even worse than when he was laying down. Did he fall asleep with a blanket on? There's one spread across him but he doesn't recognize it. 

His eyes take a minute to focus, it's then that he notices a tall glass of water and two pill caplets sitting atop a scrap of paper. 

 

_Take these and make sure you drink the whole glass._

_Come meet me in my office when you're ready._

_~ G. Reyes_

 

He doesn't have to tell him twice. He knocks back the pills with ease and chugs down the entirety of the water without stopping once for air. Crying your eyes out tends to dehydrate you pretty quick. He still feels like shit, but it helps. 

Physically he feels terrible, but mentally he's okay. Not great. But okay. That's probably the best he can ask for after last night. He'll take okay over suicidal any day. 

The leftover scrap of rope isn't hanging from the beams anymore, and the noose he threw into the corner is gone too. The wobbly chair sits back at the desk, which is once again covered with his kitschy country memorabilia. All the cigarettes on the floor are swept away and the empty bottles are cleaned up too. His room looks good as new. 

He's gonna owe Reyes a million favors, so he better not waste any more time. 

He perches his hat on top of his head and opens up the door. It's gonna be different from now on. He's not going to let him fall into that spiral anymore. He's got a new lease on life. He has to do like Reyes told him. He's got to fight for something important to him. It's won't be easy, but he's the only one who can do it. Justice isn't going to dispense itself. 

 


End file.
